Disappear
by AsWeAreNow
Summary: While in France, Arthur encounters a charming man. Even more enrapturing, however, is Arthur's ability to become anonymous in real life. FrUk.


Arthur sat at the bar, hunched over his drink. His head hanged low. He was ashamed.

"Bonjour," Arthur looked up to see a man staring back at him, large eyes looking with violating curiosity. And violating it was. He felt violated.

"No French," he spat. He really just wanted to be left alone.

The man, as if deciding against picking up on the bitterness of his voice, blinked and then laughed and said, "Ah! So where are you from?"

"I'm from London. And I'm going to assume you're from somewhere in France," England stared him down.

The man laughed again. "Your name?"

"Arthur. Just Arthur."

"Francis," he stuck out his hand. Arthur glared, and then looked down at his drink. "I think perhaps some company would do you... well. I'm not wrong, no?"

Arthur froze.

Company was good. Francis, somehow, had managed to coax Arthur into speaking. This was good, he thought. A nice change. He could hide as much as he wanted from Francis.

Francis couldn't judge him on the things he didn't know.

It was so nice to be in a place where nobody knew him. It was so nice to get to decide how much someone knows about you, rather than a predetermined amount of information based on the amount of bruises on your wrists and neck or how much shit your family said about you.

There was nothing to hide from Francis because nothing remained of Arthur's past. He had escaped all of it when he'd moved to London, and then he had visited France, where he was truly a ghost.

He had disappeared completely.

Francis seemed intent to tell him everything, every possible thing about his life— his favorite restuarant in France; his favorite type of cheese; his nephews, Alfred and Mathieu. Arthur wasn't quite sure why he should care, but it was just polite conversation.

Arthur was intent on telling him little. Actually, he said a lot, and once he'd had a few more drinks he said even more. It didn't seem like a lot, though. Arthur avoided mentioning his childhood, or anything of his family in Scotland, and while that was just a little part of his life, it took up the majority of his thoughts.

The second time the pair made eye contact that night, Arthur's heart stopped.

He'd never had anyone look at him the way Francis looked at him. He was used to glares of disgust and anger, or people avoiding looking at him entirely— a habit he'd picked up, apparently, given the amount of times Francis had looked at him so far.

But this— this was different.

Francis's stare was intoxicating.

(Linebreak.)

Arthur had a few reasons for having left Scotland. First of all, his mother. His mother had loved him very dearly, as with the rest of her children. He'd never really had a father; he'd seen his father only twice, but had heard him a thousand times.

Arthur remembered watching his mother writhing on the floor, dying. And he could've done something, and he didn't. He just sat there, unable to move. Completely useless. Crying, but really, did he have a right to the pain he felt? It was his mother that was in pain.

He lit another cigarette, fumbling with the lighter. It was cold now, and his hands were shaking badly. He'd almost burned himself.

A full night had escaped Arthur's memory. When the ambulance arrived, everything went black, and then there was the light of dawn.

The morning after, Arthur's brother had beaten the crap out of him. Everything changed after his mother died. All he had left turned against him.

Arthur stood up. He lit another cigarette, the buzz coming less from the smoking and more from knowing it was dangerous to do so— that one too many could lead to a painful demise.

That didn't necessarily matter to him right now, if he was honest. There were worse things in the world.

He was coming down from a high, not from the sex or even from the cigarette itself, but rather from Francis. He didn't know it was possible to be intoxicated via person, but Francis had elated him, even if only for a short time.

The other reasons didn't matter. His mother was the main reason he'd left.

(Linebreak.)

The next morning, he left early.

Somehow, however, they met up several more times, which was a bad direction to go in from a previous one-night stand. Each time, they smoked afterwards, sitting in content silence.

Soon, though, Arthur knew it was almost time to leave. He didn't really want to, but he knew he had no choice.

He was beginning to think that perhaps it would've been fine to tell Francis everything from the beginning.

He stayed out later that night, smoking cigarette after cigarette on the balcony. He had Francis's phone number written on a piece of paper in one of his pockets.

Francis wanted to keep in contact with him. That would make him the first person. Arthur felt a little bad about it. He felt like he'd scammed Francis somehow.

He left early, without sleeping. It was still dark when he was slipping on his coat. He reached his hand into one of the pockets, pulling out the scrap of paper, and looked over Francis's phone number one last time before throwing it in the trash bin. He opened the door as quietly as he could and closed it as quietly as he could.

It felt weird. Perhaps he should say goodbye. Still, when had he ever been reliable? Francis would wake up and find that he was gone, maybe find his own phone number in the trash, and that would be all.

Arthur didn't want to leave. Francis made him feel better than anyone else had ever made him feel. He reminded himself that he was a loner, and that's why Francis had this weird effect on him. Anyone could make him feel seen. He didn't need Francis.

He went back to his hotel room, packed his things, and caught the first airport shuttle. His flight wouldn't leave for hours yet.

**So I'll explain why I wrote this now, I guess.**

**While I don't ship FrUk, I don't hate it either, and when I had this idea I was originally going to do this with England and America— but I figured that England and France would work way better. **

**This story didn't turn out exactly the way that I wanted it to, I'm afraid. Doesn't have the same touch I hoped it would have. **

**Regardless, a review would be wonderful. Have a good day, drink a glass of water, and stay safe. **


End file.
